“We certainly cannot leave them here in camp. Every nigger in it will be blind drunk before midnight, and they are fortifying the commissary’s store.”
“What on earth did McBride mean by paroling those ruffians,” I sighed. “It was beginning to be so pleasant.”
“It was an error of judgment. But it will be equally pleasant at White Sulphur.”
As we talked we had returned to the centre of the camp. There we found a picturesque scene. McBride and his men were seated in the glade of the live-oak forest, no longer disguised; around them stood or lounged some forty bearded mountaineers, all provided with long rifles. General McBride was sitting with King Kelly himself, amicably drinking his own “pine-top;” as we approached he rose to meet us and handed a telegram to Raoul, who cast his eyes over it and gave it to me, with the remark that it might assist my decision. It read:
“If cousins Miss Bruce are with you, detain them and escorts. Will wire parental authority to-morrow.
“Kirk Bruce.”
“I feel bound, sir, to ask you your intentions,” said McBride to Raoul.
“Miss May Bruce and I are to be married, sir.”
“In that case, sir,” said the General, “in the absence of parental authority I cannot, of course, interfere. Permit me to congratulate you.” They shook hands.
“And this Northern gentleman?”